Of all the movements to find a transatlantic appreciation, dubstep seems an unlikely one to have its subterranean bleak beats rubbing up against the muted Donuts-gone-cold hip-hop of Flying Lotus’s Los Angeles, juddering space-age loops of Ras G or Echospace’s pursuing of sparse soundscape avenues with The Coldest Season - dronestep, anyone? Listen though, it’s there; Croydon unpacked its bags. But across the Channel a Belgian brute, equally persuaded by its juggernaut basslines, has woven an equally beguiling knit as techno tyke Dave Huismans tries his hand at its taut structures with a minimal panache.
Ever eager to leap on a tangent, Hague beatnik Huismans has been something of a cuckoo in previous years, going under various aliases, releasing broken beat as Dogdaze and techno as A Made Up Sound over the last half decade, picking made nests to call his own. But rather than sit quietly, he’s soon moving the furniture round to suit him, no more so here where as 2562 he has fed a focused techno guile to the London-bred bastard genre’s blanket of comatose beats, dragged by the collar towards something less vacant. Dare it be said, in the direction of a dubstep girls might want to dance to.
Rather than the figureheads most are drawn to in both camps – Burial and Villalobos – 2562, along with fellow countryman Martyn, lays it down with a straight-laced approach, far closer to a mesmeric midway between Alex Smoke and Skream. ‘Kameleon’ remains the finest example of Huisman’s newfound craft, soaking acidic spits of micro habit into the familiar lumbering reverberations of SE1 basslines. And bongos. Released through Bristol-based dubstep minefield Tectonic and having previously gone through Hyperdub, 2562’s sound is indebted to the owners of both imprints, whether the snatching detail to ‘Movern’ close to the stuttering Detroit drops of Pinch’s Underwater Dancehall or the anesthetising browbeaten wash of ‘Greyscale’ like 2562 holding hands with kode9.
Aerial is a record that, as opposed to his incarnation as A Made Up Sound’s deep house, has a tendency to step out of the shadows to something far more hypnotic. In particular, ‘Channel Two’ (a new take on ‘Channel One’, released earlier this year) finds spacious techno sucked in and spat out as cobweb-ridden, knee-beaten dubstep. If there’s a fault it’s that from this earnest incarnation of the genre we’re in danger of the inevitable, ending up awash with either a supermarket shelf or coffee table version of the genre. But, as it stands, with shards of passing 2-step, dub, broken beat, Basic Channel bites and whatever else will fit in the basket sneaking in on the mix, Aerial provides a decent indication of strides away from the decline.
Scraps rather than a moveable feast, but one remarkable siphoning off of various influences to provide a dissonant slab of techno-fuelled dubstep.
After drifting out at sea Abe Vigoda have finally washed up amid the foam and jellies, a panic-stricken mess set to a holy racket, wild children picked from the wilderness. Since releasing the berserk underground haemorrhage-pop jams of Sky Route/Star Roof back in 2005, these self-proclaimed ‘tropical punks’ have pushed their head out the swamp surrounding Los Angeles’ DIY scene that they’ve been festering in the last few years, with their intoxicating jumble sale of wired influences - noise-pop set to gamelan - a mannered madness away from mother, giddy on unlimited refills.
Whether the stalled tin-pan chimes of ‘Bear Face’ or their efforts as drone tyrants for ‘Whatever Forever’, Skeletons is their finest outing yet. With the nonsensical chants that have riddled prior records incessant at the fore, their nursery rhyme lyrics are proudly hollered by Juan Velazquez and Michael Vidal’s clumsy tongues with a treehouse child exuberance, yelps coating their raucous calypso cuts.
With HEALTH and No Age’s noise-pop conundrums bearing the juiciest fruit from the scene surrounding all-ages grotbag vegan venue and DIY hub The Smell, Abe Vigoda now have something of audience to tend to. Released on PPM (run by No Age’s Dean Spunt) and with a name taken from an actor renowned for his support roles rather than any showcase performance, it’d be easy to accuse Vigoda of being background cast rather than leading role. But, with a record possessing such an untamed imagination it’s fair to say that Abe Vigoda’s maddened prattle is a talent worth nurturing, whether soil in their teeth or blood on their knees. Their screams are cowardly cries - this the sound of a breakdown set to music.
From the moment ‘Dead City/Waste Wilderness’ bursts in there’s rarely a let up; Skeletons is exhausting. Seeming overlong at only a half hour, it’s like taking a child full of pop round a toy store, incessant down each isle. Yet there’s so much in there to pick at that it’s just a case of heading back to the start for another round as you place your finger on another delicacy they’ve fed into the mix.
Silence. Momentarily this gaggle are sedate, with the shimmering instrumental ‘Visi Rings’ combining the dissonant drone passages that have rolled around Brooklyn gutters for the last few years and the splintering shards of sunburnt noise Ecstatic Sunshine lap on. Whether the exotic fruits on show in‘The Garden’ or ‘Hyacinth Girls’ flaunting its garish bloom there’s a hardcore brutishness amid the gamelan pan slaps, rumba rumbles and soca tussles. But these kids are not the sort rushing for world music credentials, they just want some way to soundtrack their unhinged downfall. “Leave me in the street,” bawls Vidal, as if an abandoned mongrel.
No wave dilettantes, tropical punk prophets, Abe Vigoda are all smiles. Rightly so.
The sound of monotony swamping your skull, Graffiti Island are not typical. Brought together through a mutual love of the deranged dilettante Jan Terri, their bludgeoned lo-fi is the sort that’d have even Calvin Johnson turning his nose with frontman Pete Dee’s vocal a coarse narcotic, one dragged from a LA suburb through Dalston high street, wading its way through a swamp of comotose reverberating basslines.
Though they’re yet to release a record (a 7” is due through House Anxiety in coming months) there’s plenty to set a jaw round. ‘Mountain Man’ is from a while back now, something no ointment can treat, rabid and pent up with carnal desires, the sort of output you’d expect from an outfit citing Meat Puppets beside The Pastels. Self-loathing mongrel pop.
With GAS it’s all too easy to suck hard on hyperbole’s teat – dissonant symphonies set to 4/4, drawing on a Cologne forest with its entrenched heritage for inspiration. But we’ll try and avoid this and just underline what many have been keen to embolden recently: Nah Und Fern is an incredible leftfield techno tide.
Wolfgang Voigt has long gone under various aliases – most notably as Mike Ink and Grungerman. Yet GAS remains his most revered guise, removed from the techno landscape he helped established. Nah Und Fern compiles the four records Voigt released under his GAS moniker between 1996 and 2000, all out of print and unavailable unless you had a few hundred euros going spare. After releasing the Modern EP in 1995, Voigt went on to industriously churn out Gas (1996), Zauberberg (1997), and Königsforst (1999), culminating in the release of Pop in 2000.
Kompakt shopkeeper and founder of the Cologne imprint when Jürgen Paape, Jorg Burger and brother Reinhart began releasing under Delirium in 1993, Voigt was central in the micro-house scene that blossomed in the ‘90s after assembling his Profan and Studio1 labels. Voigt’s influence throughout techno has been remarkable, yet some unlikely characters have honed the alienated squall of GAS, with some of this year’s finest – Growing’s Lateral, Echospace’s The Coldest Season, The Field’s Sound of Light EP – all easily tied with the same bow, with Voigt’s ethereal blanket easily a central reference point for their varying anaesthetizing drone passages.
Endless paragraphs could be spent dreaming up lucid explanations of each album, all of which take a similar approach but with a different tack, each having kept the local Königsforst Voigt used to go to take acid in his younger years as a recurring conceptual theme. But it is the looming bleak beats of Zauberberg that remain the most remarkable, wilted minimalism like Mike Ink’s techno strokes sat sick with sunstroke, a muted glory, mesmerisingly adroit and as if they’re corroding the inside layer of your skull.
Like Axel Willner’s The Field, GAS’s output is built up of blocks of samples – many classical, picking at Wagner and Schöenberg, and, like his previous incarnation as BLEI, traditional music you imagine haunted Voigt in his youth. But as opposed to Willner’s brand of Stockholm Syndrome sampling with glimpses of Tusk and Hounds of Love beneath the wash, GAS guts the records and leaves them all but unidentifiable, a mirage of washed orchestral works, losing any previous context as they’re sucked into GAS’s vacuum.
Despite the wavering tone, it’s difficult to peg this all as just ‘ambient’ – this is a taut, industrial direction far from any limp post-rock stew. That so much of Kompakt’s strand of technopop derives from this vacant thread of Voigt’s focus is credit to the muscle of the material. Speaking recently to Rob Young, Voigt said that “due to the mass overkill, loss of values and arbitrariness, the once liberating movement of international minimal techno has degenerated into an uninspired, unglamorous DJ kit, a boring pap”. (You listening, Paape?) Veering off, away from the pop plateaus Kompakt went on to scale, this dense catalogue - with each disk touching an hour - is Voigt’s attempt to climb the same mountain from another direction.
Far from a bloated indulgence, Nah Und Fern is a sunken masterpiece.
A slew of critics have proclaimed Chicago/Detriot hip-hop duo The Cool Kids as some throwback bastard, sucking on Eric B and Rakim samples and playing out feel-good lines about “bringing ‘88 back” that kick with a failsafe nod back to Kool Herc’s heyday.
Well, that’s what they are to some extent, but there’s a whole lot more in their basket. Far from mere bloated good-timers prattling on about mastering ‘the elements’ and that “no-one lays it down like Bambaataa any more”, there’s more to these kids, who attach an astute minimalism to their lumbering beats; a greater substance that you’d initially think The Neptunes may be behind.
Mikey Rocks (real name Antoine Reed) and Chuck Inglish (Evan Ingersoll) met in 2005. After years learning their trade selling mixtapes over the ‘net on their own imprint C.A.K.E., the pair are now prepping their first record proper, When Fish Ride Bicycles, for some time in the near future. They’re testing wider waters with The Bake Sale, compiling their finest moments so far – it’s soon to be released officially in the UK via XL Recordings, the majority of its material lifted from 2007’s Totally Flossed Out EP.
Meeting at the XL pit with the pair, psyched by the fact they’re playing the Maharishi store later that night, DiS speaks to Mikey and Chuck as one gets their hair clipped and the other chain-smokes spliffs; they swap duties mid-interview. With loose tongues, we talk shop and dispel some myths.
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The Cool Kids (l-r): Mikey Rocks and Chuck Inglish
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On suffering from and surviving ‘the hype’…
Chuck: “We don’t suffer from the hype syndrome as much any more. Hype can’t tour Europe twice. [Europe] ain’t the most forgiving place on the globe to tour without a record. So either you’re good or you suck.
“We don’t polarise our music. We kind of make it how we are, and we got along with a lot of people. That’s not because we try to but it’s just we’re attracted to all types of people and we make music in the same way as our personalities work. It’s probably that we connect to others. If there is another reason then I don’t know it.”
Mikey: “In hip-hop there are no rules, but some people believe there are guidelines: can’t do this, can’t do that, can’t look like this, can’t talk about that. Two, three years ago when we started first making stuff they wouldn’t have that shit and there weren’t any hip-hop shows we could go perform at, us looking like we did and us rapping about the stuff; they wouldn’t have that shit and it underlined there’s some close-mindedness that goes into it. A lot of the powers that be have that attitude and that stigma of what you can and can’t sound like and wouldn’t have accepted it, so that’s what we accepted and pushed it instead. We got a crowd of people who were eager to hear a load of different shit, whether indie rock or jazz.”
Why they’re not bothered about appearing to have their heads lodged too deeply in the old school…
Chuck: “They only say that shit about hip-hop. Everybody has to put it in a sort of way for people to have a bit of direction, but nobody asks The White Stripes about that shit. But since we rap and took it back to something we grew up with we get asked that question. That’s just what we we’re about. There’s nothing wrong with that from the beginning – it’s just that people have a sick obsession with classifying everything, especially when it comes to hip-hop artists.
“We’re not seen as musicians. I think that’s because rappers aren’t considered musicians. Not by too many people. Bands though, they’re perceived to work harder to get that sound. Hip-hop artists use samples and shit, so I think that’s why it’s not as criticised as much. Shows are half-arse, beats are half-arsed, rhymes just ride the beat.” (Conversation curtails into where The Roots stand in all this.)
- - - Video: The Cool Kids, 'Bassment Party' live in Seattle
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The influence of The Neptunes, and sounding better than they look…
Chuck: “They struck up a curiosity with me of ,‘Oh, you can do that?’ I always had that sound in my head but didn’t know how it could be done and they shined a light on it and how to be unorthodox but for it still to sound good. I think I followed that and took it from a load of people. N*E*R*D’s In Search Of… album was the one that showed to me you can do whatever you want and it’s kind of where I’m at with it.”
Mikey:“A lot of the influence was in the imagery, because they would reference a song that I could easily identify as having an old school theme to it but then thinking of completely new age stuff. People would reference a certain song with old school beats and I could clearly see the throwback references, and at that point I saw that people subconsciously associate the picture with the sound of it. Because people say ‘Black Mags’ sounds retro, and I don’t see that.”
Chuck: “He makes an excellent point, because if you put The Pharcyde in a different context they would have been seen as retro hip-hop. They would have been like, ‘This is the new Tribe [Called Quest], they’re exactly like Tribe’.
“I think we make music that’s better than how we look. If you don’t do that then you kinda can’t make it out the gate. You can’t look better than your music. So we can dress and this and that, but that doesn’t make dudes like you. Pretty boy rappers - there’s not too many male Nelly fans. His fans, LL Cool J’s fans, they’re a majority of… dudes don’t want to see you rapping with your shirt off. It’s not the cool thing to do because people aren’t looking at it like that, people are just thinking, ‘Why’s this guy got his shirt off?’ If you’re going to look good, you’ve got to make better music.”
Mikey: “Otherwise it’ll overshadow you and then you’re just a fashion guy. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times, where someone’s image overpowers their music. You could point out some guy as so-and-so but can’t name one of his songs. I know plenty of those.”
They’re peas in a pod, like Outkast…
Mikey: “If there was a two-piece puzzle – no cheesiness involved – it works like that. Anything that doesn’t click in his head that he doesn’t see probably clicks in my head, and things that I might not see or I’m not conscious of click in his head. It works like that to cover certain bases and it doesn’t clash because the pieces fit into the right spots. If there are two dudes in a group and both of them rap exactly the same about the same stuff then you’ve just got two of the same dude, the same guy rapping the same stuff twice rather than two different perspectives.
“We’re not exactly alike and we look at stuff different and that’s why it works. Look at Outkast – that shit works perfectly. I’ve never questioned the pair of them. They’re both doing exactly what they need to do. It’s like playing Battleships where every peg if filled in and they’re not missing anything. You might receive that initial hate at first and that ‘this is not what it’s meant to sound like’. But once you get that respect it’s there and solid. So, you’ve got to go through the whips on the back and slaps in the face from people when you’re a new artist, but it’s a part of getting respect from the people listening if you want to do your own thing.”
Going it alone and signing to XL after independence…
Mikey: “See, when we came here the first time and met up with the staff, we sat out and talked about music and creativity and people we like with the head of the company. And when the head of company can come and sit and talk tit for tat about their love for whatever that’s already a good sign. And their track record of the super-dope artists they’ve put out is a plus too.”
Chuck:“When all your favourite players are on one team you know who to support.”
Whereas most acts get berated for churning out material with the same formula, Brooklyn instrumental duo Ratatat’s return with LP3 and the same hurdy-gurdy waltz they’ve always had avoids such a pitfall, as their material proves as intoxicating as ever.
“Always different, always the same”? Pretty much. After using Björk’s house for the tail end of the recording of second album Classics, Mike Stroud and Evan Mast decided to bunk up and lay down the record at Old Soul Studios, full of dusty Wurlitzers and discarded harpsichords to satisfy their warped musical tendencies. As a result, their new record entangles as many Arabian epilogues as Daft Punk cushioned basslines.
Mast guides us through LP3 and how they’d rather have a sparrow providing vocals than Lil’ Wayne.
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Only taking a few of weeks to record, as opposed to the months that previous albums took to write, would it be fair to say that LP3 was written during something of a glut of inspiration? Yes that’s a good way to describe it. We rented this studio for 40 days and 40 nights and just got really deep into making music. We made something like 25 songs during that time, start to finish. I’ve never really experienced anything like it before. It felt like we got caught up in a fast moving current. We were like El Niño and LP3 was the Gulf of Mexico.
What do you put this glut down to? I think a lot of things just crystallised all at once. We had been out touring for about two years, playing shows all over the world. It was a really amazing and inspiring time - to see crowds of people showing up at our shows, in countries we've never even been to before. So we'd had all these great experiences and we went into the studio with a very positive feeling. We also found the perfect studio at the perfect time. We were very lucky.
Do you see the record as a continuation of the same themes you picked at on Classics, or a record removed from previous ventures? It'd been so long since we recorded Classics (released in 2006) I wasn't really thinking much about those songs. I think LP3 is pretty far removed from that, actually. Of course it’s still me and Mike though, so certain ideas carry over. I think ’Dura’ sounds a bit like Classics - that was the first song we made for LP3, so maybe that was the transitional period.
How important was recording at Old Soul to the broader sound? Old Soul definitely had a influence on the sound. There’re a lot of great instruments there. We were particularly inspired by the harpsichord. It was just amazing to suddenly have access to this new palette of sounds.
Was it a better environment to record in than Björk’s house? Björk's house was amazing in its own way, but when we recorded there we basically just transplanted our home studio into her house. So the environment changed, but the tools were exactly the same as what we'd already been used to. At Old Soul we had a lot of new stuff to play with, so a lot of ideas came out of that.
Ratatat, Classics and LP3: is it fair to say that Ratatat struggle with record titles? Would you prefer something like Viva La Vida? In Rainbows? Personally, I think we nailed it.
Would you say LP3 is better or worse ‘party record’ compared to previous records? It's better for parties than previous records, and I don't just mean our records. I mean all records.
Can we expect another instalment in your remix series? We haven't been working on any hip-hop remixes lately. I’ve been getting really into making videos though, so I’ve had the thought to do a DVD mixtape with videos. There's a lot to do though. I don't know if I’ll really find the time for it.
Who do you think has the portfolio to front Ratatat on a full-time basis: Lil’ Wayne or Jay-Z? Shit, it almost pains me to admit it, but I think I’d go with Wayne at the moment. I only say that because I some of my most favourite albums were made by Jay-Z. I just haven't been as excited about his recent stuff. If we ever got a vocalist, it'd have to be some kind of bird. Birds have a double set of vocal chords so they can create two tones at once. Their vocal chords are also situated at the bottom of their oesophagus, which gives them much more flexibility than humans, which is why they can create such a broad range of sounds. Human voices are really quite limited.
- - - Video: ‘Mirando’, from LP3
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You’ve strayed from The Knife to Missy Elliott when remixing. Who is the most absurd person you’ve been asked to meddle beats for? Fergie.
Going back at bit, but ‘Seventeen Years’ was used to advertise the Hummer H2, whereas ‘Bustelo’ was used to soundtrack the Jaguar driving experience. What ride typifies the Ratatat sound? We started out on a hang glider. Moved on to a Lambo’. I think now we're approaching hydrofoil.
There seems a Balkan pomp underpinning LP3. Was there any temptation to go the full hog and leave the synths behind for a focused gypsy sensibility? I think you can have synthesizers and still have a focused gypsy sensibility. In fact, that is what LP3 aims to prove. If LP3 was an essay that would be its title.
How do you respond to the claim: “Ratatat will be signed by Star Trak as the understudies of The Neptunes”? I haven't signed anything yet. We're negotiating for a bigger advance and a company car.
Finally, for people shelling out for the record, what is the perfect setting to listen to LP3? Put your head in between the biggest, bassiest speakers you can find, slowly turn the volume knob until it becomes painful, then turn it back slightly or you'll damage your ears - you'll need those for LP4. Turn the lights down, if not off. You might want to close your eyes, but you don’t have to. Don’t read anything though. If you need to get up to get a snack or use the restroom, wait for the end of the song, press pause and go do what you have to do. Don’t listen from the other room, the sounds will be muffled. That’s fine for subsequent listenings, but first time listeners should really be focusing here. Listen to the whole record. I know 42 and a half minutes is a lot of time to ask of you, but I think you will find that the songs will reward you for your attention. Most importantly please don't listen through laptop speakers or the free ear plug headphones that came with your mp3 player. Give it a real go on a proper sound system. Otherwise you'll be missing out on some important frequencies.
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That is science talking. Follow those instructions and you’ll have those bowels back in working order.
Under various guises, one way or another, KOMPAKT has existed for 15 years as of last month. The label celebrated with Gui Boratto, Burger/Voigt, Thomas Fehlman and Mouse on Mars all performing at The Dome last month. The Cologne-based imprint began when Wolfgang Voigt, along with brother Reinhard, Jürgen Paape and Jorg Burger, founded Delirium in 1993. In 1998 all expanded with KOMPAKT made the bonafide umbrella for the shops, label and distribution (for such labels as Traum and Dial) to work under after the initial success of Voigt’s various imprints, particularly Profan - critically lauded as the pinnacle of microhouse in the mid-90s.
Alongside fellow KOMPAKT chiefs Paape and Michael Mayer, Voigt has shaped his own strain of micro under such aliases as Grungerman, Wasserman and Mike Ink, but most notably with the ethereal techno of GAS, returning this month with the reissued release of Gas, Zauberberg, Konigsforst and Pop as the 4-disc collection Nah Und Fern, conveniently coinciding with KOMPAKT’s recent anniversary celebrations. We spoke to Voigt, president of the label, about the past and present of one of the most innovative co-op’s going.
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Can you explain the motivations behind starting the KOMPAKT label, away from Profan and Studio1?
Profan and Studio1 were labels were for Voigt releases only. The idea behind KOMPAKT is to provide a strong platform for various kinds of sound styles. KOMPAKT was and still is the label where innumerable demos submitted from all over the world became famous records.
How important do you think having all the sub-labels?
From a certain business size on, sub-labels allow you to better organize all the releases and the work involved. And moreover, they provide the best platform to release different music styles. Sub-labels are fun because you can react very fast to sub-trends.
What do you feel has been the most significant KOMPAKT release? And which are you most proud of?
I think it is up to the listener to decide which KOMPAKT release he likes most. The label has always covered a really broad spectrum of different music styles. Honestly, I cannot tell which one of all the releases was the best, because every single release was always a heartfelt decision. Each one seems the best at the time of its release.
For someone trying to understand what KOMPAKT is about what is the one release you'd recommend from your catalogue?
After more than 300 releases, it is in fact really hard for newcomers to get an overall perspective on the KOMPAKT cosmos. The best thing you can do is to listen to the yearly KOMPAKT TOTAL and POP AMBIENT compilation releases to get a representative overview.
How has Cologne influenced the way you operate? How crucial was having the shop as a hub of activity?
Not Cologne had an effect on KOMPAKT, it was the other way round: KOMPAKT had a vital effect on Cologne. The shop was really important.
On the one hand, it was great to celebrate our enthusiasm for techno music thanks to the constant supply of fresh music. On the other hand, it was a real advantage that we could offer home-productions a place of direct reflexion under one roof.
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BURGER/VOIGT LIVE AT KOMPAKT TOTAL 8, 2007
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How has having the label helped or hindered your own musical efforts?
At long sight, to run a label as big as KOMPAKT is rather counterproductive for your own creativity. It involves a lot of time and the excessive occupation with external input can be an obstacle as it affects your own creative work and ideas.
How do you feel the label has changed over the last 10 years?
We are in constant and consequent development, yet we have never lost track of our own characteristic style. We love to make spontaneous decisions on releases in order to surprise both, our fans and ourselves. Over the years, profile album projects have become more and more important. The so-called author techno.
Do you still see KOMPAKT as “a castle that you never want to leave”?
The original quote is: “...a castle you never want to leave, if you do not want to”. The quote refers to a comparison of KOMPAKT and Andy Warhol’s Factory and to Wolfgang Voigt’s very own life draft. KOMPAKT might remind a bit of a castle but it is an open castle, with gates wide open towards the world.
How do you see the role of record labels' changing in the next few years? Has the move into the digital age been a good or bad thing for KOMPAKT?
The history of KOMPAKT is the history of the vinyl record in the DJ age. Although KOMPAKT is a contemporary, flexible company, we believe that a digital world and digital music sales without any haptic music sales would represent an irresponsible cultural loss of values.
Are there any records you regret having put out? Whether you disliked the music, because the artist was a jerk to work with or otherwise.
The catalogue number XXX is really a nightmare and if I had only known before what kind of “jerk” the artist XXX was, I then...
Where would you like to see the label in another ten years?
Right here.
How would KOMPAKT’s eulogy read?
I think this is up to the others...
Which German footballer do you feel encapsulates KOMPAKT?
Birgit Prinz.
Currently on KOMPAKT’s record player...
ABBA.
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KOMPAKT release GAS’s Nah Und Fern collection on June 10.
